(How to tell my husband isn’t paying attention to me:)

Me: “We haven’t had sex in three days.”

Husband: “Not necessarily.”

(No, he’s not getting sex elsewhere. He just really was not paying attention.)

(I often take my very tame, very friendly female ferret out on her lead to get some fresh air. I mostly get a lot of strange looks but for some reason people with small children act like ferrets are awful, vicious creatures that carry all kinds of disease. On my walk one day a young woman is walking along with a little girl, about three years old. I brace myself for the worst.)

Girl: “Mummy! Mummy, what’s that animal?!”

Girl’s Mother: *laughing* “That’s a ferret, sweetie!”

Girl: “Awwww, so cute!”

(I pause for a moment a few steps away from them, mostly out of shock, and a little bit because I’m used to people wanting to skirt me and my ferret in the street.)

Girl: “Can I pat it, mummy? So cuuuuuute!”

Girl’s Mother: “Remember we don’t touch other people’s pets without asking; they might get scared, or they might not like kids.”

Me: *still slightly stunned* “This one does. She plays with my nephews all the time. She can pat her if she wants to.”

Girl’s Mother: “Oh, thank you!”

(The mother kneels down and keeps telling her daughter, “Now, gentle! Don’t scare her; nice and soft,” and stopping her daughter from touching my ferrets face. The little girl is over the moon and incredibly sweet and gentle, giggling like crazy as my loveable lump of a ferret sniffs her and revels in the attention.)

Girl’s Mother: “Thank you so much. She LOVES animals.”

Me: “It’s no problem at all. Most parents yank their kids away like my ferret might set them on fire.”

Girl’s Mother: *screws up face* “How stupid! Our guinea pig has probably bitten more people than this little guy.”

(After a quick chat I learned they’d just moved in up the street from me and they were walking to the park down the block. Almost every afternoon for the next several months we met up along the same patch of sidewalk and the little girl would pat my ferret, and the mum and I would chat for a bit. When my ferret finally passed away last month of old age, they met up with me the next day with a card and a box of chocolates, and an adorable drawing of my ferret done by my tiny toddler friend. All it took was one person realising my ferret was not a danger to her kid for me to gain two wonderful friends.)

(A woman has entered our shop, which has a very generous returns policy. This is the second time she has visited with the same story, and the second time this conversation has played out.)

Customer: “I came in just before Christmas to swap [Cosmetic] for another one more suitable, and the lady behind the counter said she ‘shouldn’t do this’ but gave me an IOU since you were out of the one I needed. Then my wallet was stolen with the IOU in it. I came in last week and you wouldn’t help me. But I still want my [Product].”

Me: “I’m very sorry your wallet was stolen. Can you describe the person who served you?”

Customer: *perfectly describes a distinctive staff member*

Me: “That sounds like [Coworker]. She left the company over a month before Christmas. And she would have been perfectly qualified to issue you a credit note — no ‘I shouldn’t do this’ needed.”

Customer: “I still want my [Product].”

Me: “I don’t have any return, credit note, or ‘IOU’ to put into the system. It’s like having no cash.”

Customer: *getting angry* “I’m upset that you won’t give me my [Product]!”

Me: “It’s not that I don’t believe you, but I have no credit note as evidence and the staff member you describe wasn’t here at the time you specified. And none of my staff would do an ‘under-the-table’ IOU. I’m always right here if they need help to process a return.”

Customer: “It’s not fair that I don’t get anything! No refund! No [Product]!”

Me: “I don’t have anything to use as tender.”

(I call the manager over, who listens to the story again. It goes around in circles so many times we give in.)

Manager: “I will give you a free [Product] this once. But it’s important that you understand that without any credit note, receipt, or evidence I can’t help you in future; it’s as if I went to another shop and said, ‘My $100 cash has been stolen! Can I have $100 of free stock?’ I’m sorry that your wallet was lost, but unfortunately I can’t give things away for free.”

Customer: “Hmff! Thank you.”

(I can imagine this lady might have gone on to trade all her invisible lost loyalty cards in for free juices and coffees. The customer is not always bright…)

(When my husband and I first got together he was in a lot of financial trouble. I helped sort out his finances and it was decided he needed to get rid of his car and buy a new one. He couldn’t get a loan at the time so I did and put the car in my name, which was also done to prevent any repossession from debt collectors, etc. We refer to this new car as his car and the car I already had as my car. We’re now married, his car is still in my name, and we have recently sold my car. Of course, Murphy’s Law, the week after selling my car the battery on his car goes kaput. He has to bike ride to the local auto store to get a new battery. Note: I regularly remind him (jokingly) that his car is in my name and is my car.)

Husband: “You should be doing the bike riding. I have to work tonight.”

Me: “It’s not my car!”

Husband: “Oh really? REALLY? It’s not your car is it? Can I have that recorded?”

Me: “Wait… No! It’s MY CAR! The registration is in MY name!”

Husband: “Registration does not prove ownership.”

Me: “The registration in my name means if you run off with a younger woman I can have you arrested for stealing my car.”

Husband: “Oh, thanks! I run off with a younger woman and all you’re concerned about is the car?”

Me: “You run off with a younger woman and you’re on your own, buddy, but I want the car!”

Husband: “Well, you better hope there is no younger women at the auto store.”

Me: “Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?”

Husband: *putting on a mock sleazy voice* “Hey, baby, I might not have a car right now but I’ve got a sexy bicycle!”

(I work at a small convenience store in my fairly rural town. It’s a really casual work environment, especially on this Sunday afternoon where we haven’t seen anyone for the last 20 minutes. I’m on shift with the owner and a new girl on her second shift.)

New Girl: “It’s so hot! I’d kill for an ice cream right now.”

Me: “Mmm, yeah. Great idea. What type? I’ll go grab some.”

Manager: “I’d love a Cornetto.”

New Girl: “Oh, no, it’s okay. I don’t have any cash with me, anyway.”

Manager: “Cash? Hun, you don’t have to pay.”

New Girl: “But—”

Manager: “None of my employees have paid for food since I opened this shop. You’re not going to start.”

New Girl: “But—”

Manager: “Help yourself. Just don’t steal smokes or anything, yeah?”

New Girl: “Are you sure?”

Manager: “Yes!”

New Girl: “Uh…”

Manager: “Oh, just eat the god-d*** ice-cream!”